Lion in the Valley (21 page)

After
several hours we halted for refreshment. Sitting before our tents, we applied
ourselves to eggs and tea, and fresh bread from the village, with good
appetite. Emerson's humor had improved, thanks to the discovery
of
some blocks of cut stone which betokened the presence of some sort of
structure.

Ramses,
of course, had to express his evaluation. "In my opinion, Papa, we have
found signs of two distinct building periods. Since the cult of Sneferu the
Good was popular in Ptolemaic times, it is probable—"

"Ramses,
your papa is perfectly well aware of that," I said testily.

"I
only wished to suggest that extreme care must be taken in order to
discover—"

"Again,
Ramses, let me remind you that there is no excavator in the field today whose
skill equals that of your papa."

"Thank
you, my dear," said Emerson, beaming. "Are you having a good time
with your little pyramid?"

"Yes,
thank you, Emerson."

Before
I could draw breath to continue, Ramses addressed Enid, requesting her opinion
on what we had accomplished thus far. It might have been only a courteous
attempt to draw her into the conversation. But I doubted that it was.

Enid
distracted him by seizing the cat, who was sniffing around her ankles. I was
surprised the aristocratic creature permitted the liberty. She was on good
terms with me and had a certain tolerant affection for Emerson, but Ramses was
the only person whose caresses she actively encouraged.

The
distraction proved effective, for Ramses then asked about Enid's pets—having
deduced, as he explained at length, that she must have owned a cat or she would
not know the precise spots to scratch. When Enid replied that she had several
dogs and a dozen cats, most of whom had been abandoned by cruel owners, Ramses'
countenance took on quite a pleasant look of approval.

As
he sat cross-legged beside her, his curly head tipped to one side and his black
eyes bright with interest, one might have taken him for a normal little boy—so
long as he kept his mouth closed.

All
at once, Emerson leaped to his feet, dropping his bread and butter (buttered
side down, of course) onto the rug. He shielded his eyes with his hands and
looked east, toward the rising sun. "Upon my word, Amelia, I believe it is
a group of cursed tourists. And they are coming this way."

"That
is hardly surprising, Emerson," I replied, trying to scrape the butter off
the rug, which was a handsome old Bokhara. "You know that is one of the
disadvantages of working at Dahshoor. Though not so popular as Giza and
Sakkara, it is mentioned in the guidebooks."

"Did
you ever see such absurd figures?" Emerson demanded. "Green
umbrellas, flaps of cloth about their heads..."

Compared
to Emerson, they did look ridiculous. Hatless, his bronzed throat and arms
bared, he was in tune with his surroundings as few foreigners in Egypt could
be. But then Emerson is a remarkable man. He has never suffered from sunstroke
or sunburn or even from catarrh, though he absolutely refuses to wear a flannel
belt, which, as every physician knows, is the only certain preventative for
that common affliction.

The
little caravan approached us. None of the riders was accustomed to donkeyback;
they bounced up and down like jumping jacks on strings. Emerson pushed his
sleeves to his shoulders. "I will just go and run them off."

"Wait,
Emerson...." But I was too late. Emerson's long legs carried him swiftly
toward the enemy.

His
raised hand brought the procession to a halt. One
stout gentleman fell
off his donkey and was hauled to his feet by a pair of grinning donkey boys. A
lively discussion ensued. I could not make out the words, except for an
occasional expletive from Emerson, but the gestures of the participants left no
doubt as to their state of mind.

Enid
chuckled. "I am reminded of Aunt Betsy, in Dickens' charming novel,"
she said.

"Like
Aunt Betsy, Emerson will prevail," I said, buttering another bit of bread.

Sure
enough, after a while the caravan turned away, heading for the North Pyramid,
and Emerson returned, refreshed and exhilarated by the encounter. We all went
back to work except for the cat Bastet, who yawned and sauntered into the tent
to take a nap.

I
did not expect the discoveries of that first day to be momentous, and they were
not—only the usual pottery shards and fragments of funerary objects. The whole
area was one vast cemetery—a city of the dead whose population far exceeded
that of any metropolis, modern or ancient. I showed Enid the proper procedure
for dealing with such finds, for we kept scrupulously accurate records of every
object, no matter how undistinguished.

There
was little going on to occupy my mind, so I was able to devote part of my
attention to working out an answer to the question people kept asking me. How
indeed to attract the attention of the Master Criminal? I sympathized with Mr.
Nemo's disinclination to sit with folded hands until that gentleman decided to
make his next move. Tactically and psychologically it would be to our advantage
to take the initiative and encourage an attack. What I needed was a treasure—a
cache of royal jewelry like the one that had attracted the M.C.'s interest the
year before. Ramses had found one such cache at Dahshoor. (In fact, I was
fairly certain he had found
two; the treasure of Princess Khnumit,
which M. de Morgan had produced with such fanfare at the end of the season,
might have been his reward for promising to yield the site to us. I had not
questioned Ramses about the matter and I had no intention of doing so, since
confirmation of my suspicion would raise delicate ethical questions I was not
prepared to deal with.)

Nor
had I any intention of going, hat in hand, to my own son and asking him to help
me find antiquities. I had even rejected the idea of interrogating the boy
about the subsidiary pyramid. I meant to carry out my excavation according to
the strictest scientific principles— but what I really wanted to find was the
entrance. I yearned to squirm into that entrance and search for the burial
chamber, and it would not have surprised me in the slightest to learn that
Ramses knew precisely where it was located. He had a diabolical instinct for
such things. However, great as would be the pleasure of entering the pyramid,
the pleasure of finding it without Ramses' assistance would be even greater,
and as the morning passed, with no sign of an opening, I began to think I had
overestimated the boy. The men were still digging out sand, and not even
Ramses—surely, not even Ramses?—could have located a hidden entrance buried
under tons of debris.

The
thought of pyramids had distracted me. I turned my thoughts back to the other
problem. In lieu of a treasure, what would attract the Master Criminal? An
answer soon came to me; but although I had every confidence in Ramses' ability
to get himself out of ordinary scrapes, it did not seem quite right to use him
as a lure to capture a murderer. There was another way, just as effective and
less open to criticism on the grounds of maternal affection.

The
sun climbed higher and the temperature climbed
with it. Occupied
with my work and my schemes, I did not notice the passage of time or feel the
heat until, glancing at Enid, I saw she was flushed and aglow with
perspiration.

"You
had better join Bastet in the tent," I said, taking the notebook and
pencil from her. "I forgot you are not accustomed to the sun."

Courageously
she asserted her willingness to remain on duty, but I overcame her scruples.
She went off, and I was about to resume my labors when I saw a cloud of sand on
the northern horizon. Another group of cursed tourists! Coming from the
direction of Sakkara this time, and on horseback. The younger and more
adventurous visitors preferred this approach.

When
I saw that the riders did not halt at the North Pyramid but were coming
straight toward us, I left Selim in charge of the diggers and hastened to
Emerson. He had once bodily removed from a tomb a little old lady who turned
out to be the former Empress of the French. The ensuing international furor had
taken quite a while to die down.

He
was rolling up his sleeves. I took firm hold of him and awaited the event.
Before long I recognized, in the party of mounted men, the same young
Englishmen I had seen at Shepheard's the day before.

They
were still wearing the fantastical and inappropriate bits of Arabic costume
they had purchased in the bazaars. However, they were expert horsemen—not
surprising in persons who have few occupations in life other than sport and
idle amusement. The guns slung from the saddles or carried over their arms were
of the latest and most expensive design.

Whooping
and laughing, they drew up beside the tent, and the young man in the lead
prepared to dismount. Seeing me, he stopped midway, one foot still in the
stirrup,
the other lifted over the horse's back. The horse chose that moment to curl its
lips back, and the resemblance to its rider, whose teeth were almost as
prominent, was so absurd I had to stifle a laugh.

"
'Pon my word, it's a lady," the young man exclaimed. "Look here, you
chaps. What the devil d'you suppose she's doing out here in the middle of
nowhere? How de do, ma'am."

He
whipped off his turban. Emerson was not appeased by the gesture. He growled,
"Watch your language, young man. Mrs. Emerson is not accustomed to
vulgarity."

"Mrs.
Emerson? Then you must be Mr. Emerson." The fellow grinned as if proud of
this brilliant deduction.

"Professor
Emerson," I corrected. "And you, sir?"

One
of his companions hastened to his side. "Allow me to present his lordship
Viscount Everly."

Emerson
grunted. "Now that you have presented him, you may take him away. This is
an archaeological expedition, not a club for wealthy idlers."

"Archaeology!
Is that so? 'Pon my word! I say, Professor, you can just show us round a bit.
Or better, let your better half do it, eh? Always take a pretty woman when you
can get one, isn't that right, old chap?" He clapped Emerson on the
shoulder and bared so many of his teeth, I was afraid they would fall out of
his mouth.

I
did not hear Emerson's reply, which is just as well. I had seen something that
drew my attention and roused my most intense detectival instincts.

Another
of the viscount's entourage had come forward. When he removed his headgear, a
turban of astonishing height and breath, his head looked as if it had caught
fire. The features below the coppery locks were hardly less astonishing. It
took a second look to convince me that they were not those of Mr. Nemo. Further
examination indicated the resemblance was not, in fact, as close as I had
supposed; it was the unusual hair color shared by both that gave a misleading
impression. This man—undoubtedly the same person I had seen at the
Administration Building—was slighter and softer, from his delicately cut
features to his plump, manicured hands.

Feeling
my fixed stare, the young man shifted from one booted foot to the other and
smiled uneasily. "Good morning, madam."

In
my surprise I had forgotten my duty to my irate husband, but fortunately Ramses
had intervened in time to save the viscount from bodily harm. Apparently he had
admired the latter's horse, for when I returned my attention to the others, I
was in time to hear Everly giggle foolishly and remark, "Yes, young
feller, he's a dazzler, all right. Want to try him out?"

"Ramses,"
I cried. "I absolutely forbid—"

But
Ramses was already in the saddle, and if he heard me, which I rather think he
did, he pretended not to.

Ramses
was not an unskilled equestrian, but he looked very small perched atop the
great white stallion. Emerson stood watching with a foolish look, half smile of
pride, half frown of exasperation, as the boy put the animal to a walk. I
caught his arm. "Emerson, stop him. Order him to dismount."

"Don't
fret yourself, ma'am," said his lordship, with another imbecile giggle.
"Caesar is as gentle as a kitten."

Our
men had gathered around to watch. They were grinning proudly, and Abdullah said
in Arabic, "He will take no harm, sitt. He could ride a lion if he
chose."

The
words were scarcely out of his mouth when a gun went off, practically in my
ear. The stallion reared
and bolted. Ramses stuck to his back like
a cocklebur, but I knew he must fall; his feet were a good eight inches above
the swinging stirrups, and his arms had not the strength to hold the reins.

Deafened
by the sound of the shot and dazed by horror, we stood frozen for several
seconds. Emerson was the first to move. I have never seen a man run so fast. It
was a splendid effort, but of course quite senseless, since a man on foot could
never hope to catch up with a galloping horse.

His
lordship reacted more quickly than I would have expected. "Don't worry,
ma'am, I'll save the lad," he cried, and ran toward the other horses,
which were standing some distance away with a pair of grooms in attendance.
Before he reached them, however, a flying form cannoned into him and sent him
sprawling. The newcomer vaulted into the nearest saddle. With a shout, and an
answering neigh, they were off, man and equine moving as one. The flying robes
of the rider blew out behind him like great wings.